


same boy you’ve always known

by orphan_account



Category: Addams Family - All Media Types, Edward Scissorhands (1990)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Trans, But they’re also perfect parents, Coming Out, Crossover, Friendship, Gen, Gomez And Morticia Are Not Perfect Parents Here, Hurt/Comfort, Sibling Rivalry, Trans Wednesday Addams, Transphobia, trans character written by a trans person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 13:57:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20908796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Title taken from the White Stripes song.





	same boy you’ve always known

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the White Stripes song.

Wednesday decides to tell them at dinner.

He’s wearing his favourite dress with his usual long braids, and the binder around his chest hurts. He’s aware that his mother notices, her hand every so often holding onto his back tenderly, silently inquiring as to the condition of his posture.

Clearing his throat, he pauses in lifting a forkful of bloody borscht to his mouth.

“If you all can spare me a moment of your time,” he says, keeping his eyes on the pulpy tapestry of borscht squelching against his mother’s ancient china, “I wanted to let you all know I’m identifying as trans.”

He need not explain himself; his parents have been following his progress every step of the way (leaving books on his nightstand conveniently under his guillotine lamp, not so subtly showing off gothic homoerotic art by their favourite trans artists). 

“Then I suppose you won’t mind cancelling our Castlevania LARP Luncheon to shop for your new wardrobe?”

Strangely, Morticia practically glows with excitement, almost more motivated by the prospect of a transformation than Wednesday himself.

“No need for that yet,” he says slowly. “I intend to sew my own clothes.”

In fact, with the help of Edward’s careful shaping of copious fabrics, he’s already outlined several outfits fitting his exact specifications. JoAnn’s Fabrics has become their favourite store; since they inexplicably find its aisles empty within minutes of their entering every time they visit, all the better!

“And even though I’m your son,” Wednesday says, bristling at Pugsley’s abrupt flinching against the table, “I intend to continue wearing dresses.”

His father nods sagely.

“Now, whereas before I introduced myself as “the proud father of two aspiring graverobbing medical examiners,” I can call myself “the proud father of two _ gentle_men graverobbing medical examiners.” Why not?”

Somberly, Wednesday nods once. Now’s not the time to digress on how he’s grown weary of his father’s obsession with Victor Frankenstein. He’d never thought his father would become enamoured with a man harbouring literature’s most famous sister complex.

“Where’s my sister, then?” Pugsley says, pouting.

Wednesday’s been anticipating this. He’s run through this exact conversation any number of times in his head. Hearing this dreaded inquiry aloud curdles his hatred for his brother and for his own uncanny premonitions of his impending doom. 

“She’s still sitting across from your hideous visage, Pugsley.”

Hissing his words through gritted teeth, he can’t bear to meet his Pugsley’s eyes.

“That’s the entire point. She’s more of herself than she ever was.”

Frowning, Pugsley leans his chin on his generous palm: “Then why bother telling us?”

_ Why bother indeed! I conveniently forgot you belong in this house, in this family, in this suburban nightmare. If I’d remembered in time, I would’ve stayed silent. _

“If nothing’s changed,” Pugsley’s saying, “why steal all the attention and every ounce of worthwhile parental affection _ again.” _

Morticia’s broad, bat-like sleeves suddenly expand, looming over the table in an ominous shadow. _ “Pugsley.” _

Wednesday scrapes his chair across the screeching ground. 

Immediately, Lurch is standing at attention by his side, gazing at him with gentle, pleading sympathy.

“Take my seat, Lurch.”

With a sad smile, Wednesday pats his wrist before storming from the dining hall, ignoring Morticia’s plaintive calls.

-

He’s always confronted with a wave of selfishness whenever he visits Edward.

His struggles compared to those of his best friend come across as manageable. 

Ever since the murder of a young man known as something of a royal entity in the community, Edward’s kept to himself, fearing the terrible devotion of his true love and, more importantly, prison. 

His and Wednesday’s excursions to the nearby JoAnn’s Fabrics count as the majority of his forays into the wild wild world; even then, he’s so haphazardly disguised he can barely visualise five feet in front of him without potentially obstructing the misshapen balaclava choking his facial muscles, not to mention the mummification of his hands.

Wednesday prefers him at home, hidden from all things horrifying, reshaping his inventor’s workshop into an atrium worthy of critical acclaim or preparing for a neverending winter.

They’re sitting in the midst of botanical debris, the silence heavy yet untroubled, both of them reassured by the other’s usual tendency towards quiet.

“I came out at supper,” Wednesday says, enunciating each word with painful clarity.

Pausing in his swiping blades of foliage into a dustbin, Edward sighs. 

“You don’t sound relieved.”

“Well, not _ now._ Not when Pugsley had to be the most abominable dick and bring up our mother loving me more. Which she does. She always _ has _ played favourites.”

“But,” and here Edward’s mouth wriggles into a pronounced frown, accentuating the clipped slices down his cheeks, “that has nothing to do with your identity.”

“Oh, but it does, Edward.”

At times like these, Wednesday remembers Edward’s intensely sheltered upbringing before moving in with Kim’s family. Even then, that’d been playacting; he’d never had a sibling of his own. This familial intimacy, fraught with pain or otherwise, is wasted on him.

“Pugsley gave me a pass when I was his sister, considering my mother and I were both female, therefore of _ course _ my mother would love me more. Right? But now, he and I are one in the same, both men, and have been since I was ten. Now, my brother has to reconcile with the brutality of this truth: she will care about me all the more now. It’s about to get much, _ much _worse.”

He hasn’t talked this much for months. He wants to rip his binder off. He wants to tear his hair out of his braids and scream. He wouldn’t care if Edward held him, cutting him open; he knows better than to expect any such affection in the way of those scissorhands.

“Maybe you can talk to Morticia.”

Edward says this softly, almost as an afterthought that he dare not impose on Wednesday.

“She’ll listen to you, Wednesday. Maybe through your words, she’ll listen to Pugsley.”

“If I could, I would force her to live through one full day of his life at his side. He is so vastly different at school. She would not recognise her son; he is beyond happy there.”

“Away from her.”

“From his loveless mother,” Wednesday says, swallowing tears. 

“_You’re _loved, though, right?”

Breathing through his nose, Wednesday stares at his whitening knuckles, shaking on his knees.

“I am _ terri_fied, but I am falling ever more in love with myself.”

This time, Edward’s sigh radiates with profound relief. Slowly, Wednesday slides the pads of his fingertips down one of his dull blades.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the LLF Comment Project (including the LLF Comment Builder), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:  
Short comments  
Long comments  
Questions  
“<3” as extra kudos  
Reader-reader interaction  
This author replies to comments.


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